


Hello, Goodbye

by buckybarnesplumwhore



Category: Defending Jacob (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, In the beginning Andy is a darkish, beware of these warnings: dub non con, but he changes throughout the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarnesplumwhore/pseuds/buckybarnesplumwhore
Summary: It’s been four years since Andy Barber lost it all. The loss of his wife and son sent him spiraling. An incident in the alley of a bar resulted in a twisted arrangement—two strangers seeking comfort within each other.
Relationships: Andy Barber/You, andy barber x reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Hello, Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: (a smidge of darkish)Andy Barber x black!reader
> 
> Warnings: smut, angst, mention of death.
> 
> A/N: This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s ‘What’s in a title?’ game (from Tumblr) I hope you like this burning trash, mind you I haven’t written in over two years, but I’m oiling this rusty tin ass, so be gentle with me. <3 so sorry for this is mega late, but ya know I’m a insecure piece of shit.

It always begins with a shy hello, and ends with a despairing goodbye.

The ache of loss satiated by sex – two weeping spirits on the cusp of momentary relief. Can’t repair breaking hearts, so instead bandage the flesh with feverous lust.

Too painful to pretend that it’s love, but it’s – something. Anything to drown the guilt, late night terrors drenched in cold sweat; whimpering pleas in the silent inky night, questioning your faiths, ‘why them?’

Is it penance?  
For all these tribulations?  
For failing the ones you love?  
Indefinitely.

This tryst has a spontaneous tipping point. It’s the gentlest of touches, kissing away the scars, bare all the ugliness, creating a nest inside each other’s shattered cavity – so you grasp a glimmer of false hope. Like you can make it through the day — close your eyes, and bask in their memory that blankets you in a warmth of sunshine.

You can say in a moment’s peace, ‘I have someone who cares.’

A tender dance that can morph into a heated, hot, and slow tango. Teasing touches, a flirty flutter of the lashes, sneaky innuendos guised in innocent voices, and coy smirks. Fueled by the fire of alcohol, and chast flick of your bottom lip against his.

As if you two haven’t done this song and dance before — like it was the first time. Two strangers treading into unknown waters, dangerous but alluring.

Tipsy foggy minds, snickers and gasps on the daring squeeze of the thigh, or the bold travels of your hand cupping his clothed crotch.

Sloppy kisses, chests heaving, your cherry red lipstick smudged over his wet mouth, creating a faded shade of pink.

His open-palms gripping your rubescent ass roughly, your subtle bronze flesh molded perfectly in his thick fingers. A possessive touch, but how he holds your waist, it feels like if he lets you go, you’ll float away.

Blistering fire of lust engulfs your senses, your whorish consciousness babbling on beer and vodka, mindless filthy taunts escapes you both. Just for one night, forget the hurt, and fuck each other stupid.

You’re not you, and he’s not Andy Barber.

He’s not the now frowned upon assistant district attorney, who lost it all in the blink of an eye, he’s just Andy. A shattered man who walks in a broody zombified state of mind, and you’re the one who can glue his pieces in a jagged puzzle.

Your affection isn’t super glue, but it’s enough for the mean-time. And when he needs a touch-up, you’ll be there.

You always are.

Just for the night. He’s gone before the rising morning sun.

Both are withering in pure ecstasy, legs shaking, backs marked with angry red trails, hip bones against hip bones bruised — then the wallowing can seep through like blood from a gash. It’s animalistic, reaching for that climax.

Pleasure and pain blurs.

He once asked you hoarsely “How do you want it, baby?” And you replied in a hushed whisper, “I want you to make it hurt. Make it hurt so good. Make me feel it for days.” Your hip-bones, clavicles, the base of your raw throat, your inner thighs, and your ass stung sinfully for a week.

Bruises painted on the canvas of your body, you winced with a wicked grin for days.

A masochist’s wet dream, no limits on self-deprecation. Bang it, bite it, bruise it. Why do you get to live another day – when they can’t? It’s all meaningless, it’s all temporary.

An unspoken arrangement brewed between torn strangers who met at a bar, breezing into three sheets to the wind.

Half-lidded eyes as your black polished fingertip circling the rim of your beer, as Andy was nursing his watered-down beer. Hollow dark eyes, and timid shy smiles. Terrifyingly magnetic.

It all started on a typical night, the open sign hangs high outside the tavern, titlering neon day-glo green piped in dingy glass tubing.

Emitting a low, dulcet hum that was muted by pattering rain droplets, the glow filters through the soaked stained windows, casts upon your wild curls. The moonless sky was filled with grainy clouds and veins of mute lightning.

A small little Boston inn.

A haven for the lonely, battered, and the exhausted. It reeked with heavy cigarette smoke, soft rock tunes crooning throughout the establishment. You were in dire need of a stiff one, it was three years the exact day.

The exact day you lost half of your heart - a gnawing gape rotted at the core. A lingering itch located at your left palm, you peer at the shaded indent of a missing ring.

A sniffle, a cough to steer your thoughts back into a reality. The tip of your thumb abrading the thin layer of the skin, your eyes sporting a sheen of unshed tears, mindlessly sinking into your tattered jean jacket - his jean jacket. Two sizes too big, hiding your nose inside the fabric, inhaling his aroma. A personal balm to pacify the ache.

Do it for her.

Your sweet baby, Aaliyah; a million stars of a bright future gleams in her eyes - who will never know who her father was. She’s the only motivation for you living, you want to be there for everything.

You don’t beckon death, but the dull ache inside you is just a bit overbearing. Photos and VHS home videos will give her an insight of who he was, but lost milestones between a father and daughter are far gone.

Lifting the beer to your glossy lips, leisure sips to bide time - you just needed alone time. Your daughter is being cared for by her grandmother – your mother – who’s earlier pestering dug up a migraine.

A mother’s job is never done, ain’t that the truth - but in your shoes, your mother’s worries about your excessive drinking has been driving up the wall.

Slumped against red leather seats that are peeling at the seams, a far-end booth of solitude, an arm tucked underneath, as the other holds a pint of cold beer. Your eyes scour over the bar, mindlessly looking at the different walks of life.

Your breath hitched, a breathy soft gasp, brown meets blue hues – darkened, menacingly shrouded under thick brows. You tore your gaze away, you felt as if you shrunk three feet under his thumb.

Devoured by his greedy eyes, your skin licked in flames under his scorching yearning.

Shivers crawl across your skin, littering goosebumps in its wake, sudden discomfort bubbles in the pit of your stomach –his eyes are unwavering. You can feel heated daggers burning holes in your skull from across the bar.

Call it morbid curiosity? You couldn’t resist the urge, with much trepidation your widened eyes trail from the table to him. Who is this man?

He’s still shamelessly staring, not once did he look away. His jaw is clenched, a tight sharp maw swathed in a smooth dark beard, a broad nose, and breath-taking hues.

Hunched muscular shoulders, subtle veins protruding his arms, combed brown hair, sensual big hands clutching a beer bottle – condensation fogging the bottle, droplets trickling over his thick fingers.

You tried to ease the intense staring contest by offering a small smile, his tongue darted out his pink lips in response, a very small curl at his mouth. It was a tease? Uncertain to you, but it felt dirty.

Your thighs clenched, rubbing tightly for friction – this man is so beautiful, but the vibe is a bit off. His eyes were glassy, swirling with mixed unknown emotions.

You focused on your drink, internally chiding yourself for almost suckering into your sexual frustration by just a smile, a quick glance back – his smirk faltered leisurely.

There’s a sense of familiarity oozing from him, you just couldn’t pin-point it. The air was suffocating, your skin was becoming increasingly hot underneath the jacket. He perked up the bottle to his lips, chugging the ale down slowly – still not wavering his eyes, barely a few blinks.

Tempered kind of rage is buzzing in his head, you can’t even look him in the eyes longer than a second. A placid haze over both of you; crooked half-smile and a rueful gaze. Your body twitched, amongst the mist the shoe drops. Those eyes. A pin drops in a deafening silence, as if the world muted beyond your reach.

Andy Barber.

The infamous assistant district attorney of Newton.

Realization hit you like a freight train, your lips parted, breathy gasp. Flashes of national news in jagged pieces of Andy Barber fighting tooth and nail for his son – who was indicted for first degree murder.

Reports of the kid’s body being discovered, along with Jacob Barber’s fingerprints being found at the crime scene. It was a gruelling year – gossip spreading like a virus on the tragedy of the Barbers.

Lost a wife, and a son; after his son was found innocent after a neighborhood predator confessed in a suicide note.

Empathy sheens over your eyes, as you sit here feeling uncomfortable from this man – he probably is just deep in his head too. Not being able to muster a friendly approach – you get it now.

You grow the courage to look up at the man once again, he’s still lurking; you smile – red, and shiny – it’s genuine. An olive branch, perhaps? Andy huffed a grin, it didn’t reach his eyes, but it’s a smile nonetheless. It’s something, right?

You’re not the only one grieving the loss of a family – but you thank God you still have your daughter. A twist of your arm in the air, flexing the jacket sleeve with the flick of your wrist; checking your watch. 10:30 pm. It’s about hay-time you head back home, hopefully your little one is tucked into her crib already.

You shuffle to your feet, standing from the booth, a quick final gulp of your beer. Flinging your bag over your shoulder, you began trekking toward the doorway.

In a flash glance your eyes sought his hues. Blue clashes with a brown, his brows are more furrowed – a shy smile, but all he gave was a rugous smirk.

You quickly bolted out the door. Tightly latching onto your bag, you basked in the gust of autumn air. Smacks your face in a cooling embrace, wet and warm – the aftermath of a cry.

Inky skies tantalizing with uncut diamonds, with silky lucid clouds – twinkling stars dig up hope that maybe he’s looking down at you; that he’s at peace.

A sense of tranquility split open your chest; the flaps of skin fluttering in the wind. Maybe it’s the liquor talking and settling in your blood, but you cling onto it.

Heavy footfalls storm behind you; gauche hands snatch your shoulders, you screech, your arms flailing, and legs stumbling. A growl could be heard, the faceless perpetrator dragging you down an alley. Fear suffocates you, “Please, no!” You scream, but it’s muffled by a hand.

“Shut it.” A low timbre barks at you, thrashed against the wall. The concrete scraping you slightly on the cheek; all the adrenaline in you rises, your foot kicks out behind you to attack but it’s caught by this stranger’s foot. Their feet sneak between your feet, and spread your legs out. Pinning you onto the wall by their massive weight.

“Knock it off.” A hushed demand, hot in your ear. Leaning off of you just a bit, arching your back to toy with your fabric. Gruff fingers encircle you, in search for your jean buttons.

Roughly unbuttoning your fly, zipping it down, you cried into the withholding hand. Awkwardly hauling the pants down in a swift motion, your legs shivering from the chill air.

Silent tears trickle down your face, the same palm rip open your jacket, tugging the hem of your shirt upward. You shivered, your lashes flutter; it’s been so long since a man touched you.

Thick fingers clasp onto your bra, and tore it down to your mid-waist. Careless yanking of your shirt up to your chin, you gasped as the cool air wisped against your breasts.

A pinch on your sensitive nipples, you squeal in surprise. Following a smack on your erect tits, a guttural moan can be heard. You shut your eyes, hoping it all for it to end. Praying that this stranger won’t kill you. “Look at me.” A snarl, you froze, refusing to listen.

The hand latched onto your mouth, tilts your head over your shoulder. “I said look at me!” Scared eyes snap open, your blood runs cold – standing before you is the man, himself: Andy Barber.

An amused grin curls on his bearded jaw, questions swarm inside your head – but you didn’t have the courage to speak. Slowly his hand loosen its tensity on your jaw, “You better not scream.” He mumbled. You nodded hazily. In a flurry, he grabs your throat – you whimper pathetically.

He bite on your lobe, “You probably think I’m a monster.” You sniveled, “No. I don’t.” His calloused fingers kneaded dipper into your waist, painting bruises of lavender, and yellow.

“You couldn’t even look me in the eye. No one can anymore.” Andy nuzzled his nose in your curls, sniffing, “But then – you pitied me.” His lips traveled down the terrain of your tear-soaked cheeks, “I saw it in your eyes. You think I’m guilty?” He sniffled.

“No, I don’t think–” Andy cut you off by his steel grip of your throat, your words dying into a whimper, “Don’t lie to me. Remember I work with liars for a living. I can smell a liar.” His grip on your waist went lax, a sore relief spreading on your skin, his hand trailed down to your exposed mound.

His fingers slithering in your velvet lips, pinching your swollen bud – earning a hiss through your teeth, “Just like I can smell your wetness.” Andy grinded his bulge harshly on your ass.

Lips to your neck, wet and sloppy – tongue darting out to lape like a rabid dog. Tender bruises, more pleasure than pain. The smell of his skin, fresh-washed, mellow beer, and cologne all maringate in your nostrils – it’s intoxicating.

His chest against your back, arm wrapped around your lower region, and unrelenting hand on your throat. Squishing you against the brick wall, small scratches on your bare breasts from the concrete – Andy’s clothed cock dry-humping your panties.

Wiggling in his hold – weak attempts to escape him. “Stop it.” He murmured against the crook of your neck, “I – I just need to forget.” He whimpered. Confusion berates you, his stuttering shook you. Like a switch from a snarling wolf to a trembling mouse.

“I need this.” Andy growled, with the power of his death grip, he leaned your face against the wall by the neck. You yelped, but he shushed you by a smack on your ass.

Faltering ankles, and feet trapped by the bundled jeans, Andy explores your back – gentle fingers trail from underneath denim, and cotton shirt to the nape of your spine. From the carving of your back, the arch of your essence, as Andy pulls away the lace that covered your modesty.

No words. Silence blankets upon you two, accompanied by your pants, Andy’s heavy breathing, and the cadence of traffic beyond the distance. You tried to paw at his crushing grasp on your neck, whining to be freed. You hated that despite your revulsion, your body craved for his touch.

Stitched lace hangs low on your knees, humiliation beating upon you as you stand exposed. Slick coating your thighs, your dripping hole gaping at nothing.

“Please Andy, please –” You didn’t know if it was a plea of humanity, or for him to ravish you. Foggy uncertainty is man-handled by lust. The clank of metal is unclipped, the unzip of his fly, denim being ruffled a bit, and the snap of boxers being pulled down.

Andy’s fingers seize his throbbing cock, his thumb slips over the tip gathering pre-cum to coat and lather the base. Slippery rubbing of his cum echoes a bit, Andy squeezes one of your cheeks, spreading it open, he moans. A drop of spit drooled between his lips, aiming at your asshole.

“I need this… you need this.” Andy mumbled, as if he was trying to convince himself and console you through the whole ordeal. By the aid of the swollen tip of his dick, he swirled his glob of spit on your anus down to your dripping pussy; then right back to your ass.

Collecting enough wetness to slip himself with ease. You shuttered, knees nearly buckling – but in a split second, you wiggled in his grip. Still uncertain that you want this; Andy misinterpreted your hesitation for impatience.

With no delay, Andy plunged himself deep in your tightness. A shocked gasp was caught in your throat, Andy groaned throatily, leaning his weight on your back – molding you both as one onto the wall pavement.

Not giving you a minute to become accustomed to his thick long girth, Andy thrusted ferociously. Your ass-cheeks jiggling against his pistonling hips, snuffing your moans by his thick fingers invading your mouth.

Your plump lips slobbering over his digits, the sticky cadence of his spit and your juices soaking his cock was music to your ears. Your ruined red lipstick was smeared all around your mouth, and his fingers.

It’s beyond taboo for you to be fucked in the ass in the back of a dark alley by an aggressive stranger–your sweaty bodies being illuminated by the moon, herself.

“You’re so fucking tight. Gripping me like a fucking vice.” Andy’s voice was hoarse in your ear. Andy removed his hand from your throat and cupped your breasts by both mighty hands harshly.

Twisting, and groping as if you were a mere toy – to release all his pent up frustration. Andy won’t admit it, but he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

The way you sunk into yourself, timid yet strength shined in your teary eyes. Your whimpers vibrates against his fingers, spurring him to fuck your ass in a more faster, and angry pace.

He just wants to taste, feel someone; he let his self-loathing blind him to hunt you down, a beautiful woman pitying him.

Four years of loneliness can make a man go mad.

You’re delirious with lust, yet shame sinks into your bones. Trying to balance the pleasures of sucking his fingers, and bucking your hips back into his. “You like it?” Andy croons, he groans at your dazed face, “You fucking love it.” He taunts you, and your boiling humiliation.

Primal instinct overrides you as one of your hands grabs his shirt, balling into a fist – tugging it, a silent plea of ‘more’. “Fuck – you feel so good.” Andy whispered, his eyes shutting close as euphoria sores throughout his body, his thrusts are erratic; he’s going to cum.

Andy finds your swollen clit, rubbing in seething circles, a muffled scream pours out of you. Andy’s grunts, and moans rise higher, and higher. The volumes bouncing against the alley – probably alerting neighbors.

A heat erupts in your belly, as the coil snaps; a gush of cum sprays against the relentless fingers of Andy, and splashes against the bricked wall.

Andy thrusts in your ass once, twice and a third time; his cum painting your walls white. Chests are heaving, racked with choppy breathing.

Andy’s body goes a bit limp, his weight pinning you against the wall. Guilt gurgles like bile at the back of his throat, Andy removed his fingers from your lips. His palm holds onto your shoulder, gently; grounding himself.

The spell of lust is broken, and you feel mortified – yet not even a slight flicker of anger. “I’m sorry.” Andy whispered in your ear, “I’m so sorry.” His voice wavers, he never intended to hurt you.

He just lost himself – succumbing to the stressed monster everyone paints him as. “It’s alright.” The words slip before you can even think, your cheek squished against the wall, you pat his fingers on his fingers – in comfort. “It’s alright.” You repeated.

Andy seethed himself out of you, tucking himself in boxers, buckling himself up. Sluggishly you fixed yourself as well, a little stumble off the wall – but Andy held you still by the elbow. You mumbled a thanks – it was an awkward dance of re-clothing yourself.

Andy avoided your eyes as you smoothed the wrinkles of your clothes, the quick glimpse of your smeared red on his fingers taunted him. Shakily wringing his hands.

“I have to go –” You shakingly respond, the deafening silence stabs you deep in the gut. “I understand –” Andy cut you off, rubbing the nape of his neck.

Twisting his hair in a grip, “I’ve ruined you.” He mumbled under his breath, pacing away from you, as he walked out of the alley.

Your feet dashed after him, grasping onto his jacket clad arm, pulling him back to you, “You didn’t ruin me. I’m okay.” Genuinely you had no ill will towards him, it was – weird.

Perhaps it’s cause you released pent up frustration as well. Yet, you want to slap him, kick him – anything to him for just taking you so aggressively in the alley way. But you restrain yourself.

Your heart is thrumming in your chest, wondering if he can hear it. Standing, and staring at each other in complete silence. The salty taste of beer from his hand still lingering on your tongue.

Trepidation trembles in his hand, Andy glimpses at your hand to see an indent of a ring; just like on his. “You were married too?” He asked in a whisper, piercing through the deafening silence.

You nodded solemnly, “Three years now.” Out of context, anyone would assume you meant you were married for three years – but Andy knew, he understood instantly.

“I’m sorry.” He finally grew the courage to look you in the eyes. You offered a tiny smile, it didn’t reach your eyes, but it’s something – for Andy, finally he sees there’s someone who understands him.

It became an unusual chain of events.

Despite being taken in the back of an alley right next to your favorite pub, it didn’t stop you from going back. And yet – he was there.

A week hasn’t even passed.

You pretend you don’t see him at first, and he does the same in return. Images of that night flashed before you, trying to find the will to be angry at him – but how he took control.

How all your worries in life melted away under his grip. The pain of his slaps, his burning fingers. The pain was refreshing –like you deserved it.

The universe is funny like that. Pushing you both back into each other arms; only this time, you didn’t resist like the first time. Andy couldn’t resist too. For days, you consumed his mind – waking up hard as a rock from dreams of you.

His half-hooded lids, the tip of his pink tongue darting to wet his lush lips. His pretty blues peeking at a familiar spot for privacy – it was in the bar bathroom, he tasted your sweet juices, soaking his beard.

Shivering, seated on the sink as Andy tongue-fucked you. How he smugly left, not even bothering to clean his beard from your soaking cum.

Leaving you with parting words, “I wanna go to bed smelling you.”

And again the next night.

An unspoken tango commences.

You didn’t even have each other numbers yet, but like clock work, you seek each other’s heat. Kismet? No – that’s too much of a strong word.

It’s – surreal. Andy is like nature, pacifying, intense, and sometimes ruthless; restless. He has all the emotions: alluring, shy, and arduous.

Chaos.

Andy is chaos, your madness – a tick. It’s draining yet liberating.

It took about six weeks till finally Andy slurred a suggestion of heading to a hotel; and in his words ‘enjoy over-priced liquor, and fuck you raw.’ His sardonic jab makes you ungracefully snort, nodding a bit too enthusiastically.

A fitting plan, because nowhere in hell would you let a man into your home where your child lives, and Andy’s home – it wasn’t home, but he didn’t want to flaunt a foregin presence.

Andy didn’t stay the night, leaving a note at your pillow with only his phone number, signed with A. He was considerate to close the black-out drapes, so your hungover won’t be rudely awakened by blinding sun. An Advil, and a glass of water.

He even paid for the complimentary drinks.

A whirlwind of the next weeks led by texts of a designated time, and chosen hotel; as your mother baby-sat your daughter. It was fun, thrilling but soon, somewhere in the murky depths, someone slipped up.

It’s still unclear who it was, making a more personal shift, maybe it was you when you revealed to him that you have a kid – showing him pictures of her, telling him stories.

His heart fluttered at her cuteness. Impulsively, Andy asked more about her: what’s her favorite color? What’s her favorite bedtime story?

Word vomiting how Aaliyah is a rumptious ball of joy; her favorite color is blue, she always demands for you to read her The Giving Tree before bed.

The exact same book his son Jacob adored as a child. Hearing the little snippets of Aaliyah gave Andy solemn comfort – reminiscing what was, and what isn’t.

Little Aaliyah has an unspoken penchant for the show Pearson – “I just walked in on my mom, and Aaliyah one day in the living room. You had to see her face, I’ve never seen her so concentrated before.” You giggled. Andy’s heart lurched at your melodonic laugh, but he ignored his beating heart.

Deflecting his feelings, he replied with a grin, “Oh Boston better watch out. Hopefully I can work for her one day.”

Andy began texting and calling to see how Aaliyah and yourself were doing – good morning, and goodnight texts. Sweet texts in mid-day, just reminding you how much he likes to spend time with you. Not in so many words, but the intent speaks loud and clear.

Vice-versa, you call and text him about his day, with extra tender care; jolting with tremors of joy whenever Andy texts you. Teasing texts of lingerie – Andy’s can’t remember the countless days of him at work, hot and bothered. Jerking himself off in the privacy of his locked office.

It was just natural for both of you to slowly ingrain yourselves in each other’s life.

Even your mother has noticed a glow around you, how your ex-husband is barely mentioned – you walk a certain air. Not giving away much about your arrangement with Andy, you only revealed to her that ‘there’s a nice guy you talk to’. Often teasing you, your mother would ask, “When will I meet Mr. Mystery?”

Then another shift occurred, he invited you to his home for dinner. By this time, it was five months into the – relationship? No – but it’s something.

It was the first time you’ve entered Andy’s intimate space. It’s a barren home, vacant white walls – no family photos in sight. It was a quint house nestled in a quiet neighborhood.

Over dinner, a connection was molded. A moment of curiosity once again knots you up; excusing yourself to use the bathroom. Tepid steps pass by a lone hallway, you feel weird. Not in so much a bad way, but you felt like – you were intruding. A trespasser.

A cracked door catches your eyes, with no such thought, you peeked inside. It’s the bedroom of a teenager, that’s for sure.

The bed blanket seemed a bit wrinkled, as if someone recently laid on it. An abandoned game console, posters plastered on the walls – was.

It was the bedroom of a teenager.

You quickly snapped out of it, and quickly darted a bee-line to the bathroom. Washed fidgety fingers hover over the sink, after a fast pee break. Staring at yourself in the mirror, asking yourself ‘Why are you in this man’s home?’ Sneaky hands click open the mirror cabinet, discovering lipsticks, feminie facial creams, and hair-pins in a small bowl.

The lipstick was pinched between your fingers; slowly popping it open, inspecting. Rosey red. Almost a nub, you smiled at yourself. A shudder slithered up and down your spine – a flash of that night. You placed back the makeup, and dashed back downstairs.

Late night wine, and for the first time – tender love-making; in a bed that once wasn’t yours. Whispered pillow-talk both avoiding your fears of the future, just at the moment it was Andy and yourself.

But nothing good lasts forever, your watery eyes meet his, slowly trespassing into stories of your past loved ones.

He confided in you with tears in his eyes that when his son was a child, he would ask him every night, ‘How much does daddy love Jacob?’ and Jacob would sweetly reply, ‘Too much.’ And or how Andy used to wake his son up for school in the morning by blasting Eye of the Tiger.

Without thought Andy said, “I missed them.”

And you simply said, “And I miss him.”

And you kissed him sweetly on his beautiful pink lips.

-

It’s nine months now.

No one is willing to fess up, but there’s something in the air. Itching nerves to seek his warmth, his love – his essence.

Nestled in your bed, with your bouncing baby girl nestled upon your breasts, asleep peacefully. Mulling over in the silence, as your fingers twirl mindlessly in Aaliyah’s curls, she mewls.

Watery eyes gleaming in your eyes. Your day has been rocked into unknown orbits. Clutching onto Aaliyah, grounding yourself.

Silent fits of frustration – yet, a mask to tame your devastation. Three years of mourning has morphed into an ugly teary beast of feral rage.

The clock struck eleven p.m. Expecting to hear the key jiggle and unlock at the front door at any time – he has a key. Trusting him immensely by offering sole access to your home where you share with your child.

Eight months in, and yes – he has met your daughter. Aaliyah is normally a shy baby, but to your surprise, she blossomed to Andy very nicely, and quickly.

It was about the seven month mark, denial at the blushing gazes, lunches, dinners, good morning and goodnight calls; it’s no longer just sex. It’s – a connection, it’s something. It’s thrilling; euphoria sours through your body.

Coming over to his home, with your own key – but he hasn’t hung out at your home. If Andy was to be honest, it surprised him a bit; knowing how sensitive you are over your daughter, but his heart skipped a beat. Trust.

Inviting him for dinner – and to meet Aaliyah. Andy was sweating bullets, anxiety coiling at the pits of his guts – who is he to meet your child? The man who took her own mother in a filthy alley. Shame washed over him, filth festering his own hands.

Sagged shoulders, but holding a brave face as he stepped on the front steps of your home. Timid knocks on the glass doors; you opened with a twinkly smile.

Stepping inside, the warmth hugged him. It felt homey, and safe. Cuddled in your arms was the cutest curled dome babe. Bashful, plump bubble cheeks, and chubby hands.

At that moment, Andy knew he was wrapped around that little girl’s pinky.

Elated at the toes, breathless waiting for him to come home – home? A haven? It’s something.

You mentally whip yourself for such a slip-up; but you so desperately need his touch. What if he doesn’t want you? Just your body? Sniveling whilst cradling your little one. Eyelids slowly dropping – your blurry world slipping into darkness.

-

It’s midnight.

Aching hands itch on his steering wheel, carefully parking in-front of your house. Andy takes a moment – staring at your home. It felt like home to him. How he can rest in the warmth of your bed, and decompress; he doesn’t have to put on a brave mask like at work.

Where people pity him, walk on eggshells around him – careful with their words, too afraid to hurt him or too afraid of him regardless. Exposed lineage, the son of a criminal – fatherless. And now a man with no son, and a dead wife.

A walking tragedy. Gossiping whispers, and shifty stares made him hardened over the last four years. Grouchy, cold and overworked. Lonely – drowning in liquor just so he can get some sleep.

But no longer does ale pacify him. A warm wet cavern of understanding affection calls him; let’s him rant, scream – a shoulder to cry on. No condensing words, or faux condolences.

You even shout with him – yelling about how undeserving you two are, which led to angry rough sex. Andy can still feel the rug-burns, when you rode him for your life.

Andy can still feel your throat in his palm, as he squeezed. Whispering huskily in your ear, ‘Ride me, baby. Fucking take it all. Use me.’ Your nails digging in his chest inviting the sting. Trekking on the walkway to the house, Andy can see the light to your room was still on – a small smile curled at his lips.

Slow twist of the key in the lock. Quiet footfalls creak a bit on the wooden flooring, leisure closing of the front door. Carefully taking his shoes, placing neatly near the door.

Timid steps up the stairs. His fingers glide against the wallpaper, against the wooden railing, breathing in your air. Admiring the hung pictures that only showcased yourself and your daughter.

Andy internally aws at Aaliyah’s pictures – the cutest bubble to ever exist. Toothless smile beams with pure innocence. Andy mindlessly rubs the framed glass, fingertips hovering over her chubby cheeks. Andy takes his sweet time lingering in your home, making himself comfortable.

Andy reaches your bedroom, and the sight before him makes him freeze in his spot. Taken back, his breath hitches. Swallowing thickly, his eyes water a bit, on your bed was yourself sleeping, and sunken in the thick blanket with Aaliyah tucked in your arms – her pillows were your plush breasts.

A vision of that reminded him of the past – where he wallows often.

Andy took it upon himself to take Aaliyah from your grasp, sweetly nestling her against his chest. Rocking her very gently, as he walked to the baby’s room. Nuzzling his nose against her soft curls – it felt so nice to hold a child again. Just for a moment – even if the child wasn’t his.

Her sleepy pout was heart-melting, how Aaliyah’s tiny hand made-shift a fist on his collar. Tracing the dimples of her knuckles. Over the last two months, Andy has become a familiarized figure in Aaliyah’s life – often asking you when Andy was coming over. Buying her gifts, playing with her, holding her; you couldn’t help but fall for it. It’s domestic bliss.

Soothing her small back by rubbing circles, Andy cupped the nape of her head as he gingerly laid her down in her crib. Mumbling under her breath, peering through squinty hooded eyelids, ‘dada’. Andy’s chin wobbles. How long it has been since he’s been called dad or even being a dad.

Kissing her forehead, “Go to sleep, baby.” Caressing her the curled dome, as he fought to contain the impending tears. Internally, he just wanted to stare at her sleep – a familiar instinct he thought was long buried.

It’s a strange sense of rosey deja vu. He yearns for the lie – to “play house”. Cling onto the ruins of a past life – emigrate the cadavers and ghosts into a new one.

At first, it felt odd – wrong even. How dare he try to find solace in another family? To fall for such a beautiful baby, and just want to protect her? When he couldn’t even protect his own son. A family tragedy that the public labels it “serial killer gene.”

A traitor to his family – to move on when he couldn’t do right before. Many nights soaking his pillow with waterfalls. How could he fall in love with you – when this was just supposed to be physical? When he has his own demons? How he took you like a predator in the night.

He often had nightmares, waking up in cold sweat – screaming from visions of himself becoming his father.

Hurting you, your blood soaking his palms; can still feel your slow pulse weakly beating against his hands. Strangling you as he was seethed inside of you; the image of your tear-soaked cheeks, his reflection in your dead cold eyes haunting him.

Pulling himself away from the crib, Andy made sure the baby monitor was clipped on along with the door cracked just a fraction open. Slithering into your room, a sleepy smile greets him – wordlessly, you extend your arm inviting him to bed.

Andy’s feet dashed a bit, rushing fingers grasping at his white shirt, over his head, dropping it somewhere on the floor, unbuckling his pants, gawking at this perfect specimen of a man – your body heat welcoming him with open arms.

His toned biceps wrapped around your arms, kissing your crown – containing your tears. Trust. You completely trust him, a powerful feeling – how he carefully took your child to her bed with such loving care.

You felt like your heart was going to burst – it’s too much. It’s a display of what you dreamt for your husband and yourself – a future, one you wouldn’t have gotten anyways.

“I’ve missed you.” Andy’s pink lips spoke against your hairline, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Impulsively Andy confesses his affection, a first time outwardly one of you shows more layers. Simple words.

You muttered back, “I missed you too.” Peppering kisses, Andy snuggled you tighter. Relishing in the skin to skin contact, sniveling in his arms soaking his bare chest. Worry paints his face, brows furrowing, constricting his face as if your tears pains him too.

Oh God – I ruined it. She hates me.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Andy cups your teary cheeks in his hands, his thumbs rubbing the falling droplets away. Blubbering unable to form a sentence as your throat tightens, “Andy –” You cried, laughing a bit manically, if you didn’t laugh, you’ll just bawl.

“– How I wish you were Aaliyah’s father. I wish I met you first.” You cackled trying to stop yourself from sobbing, Andy’s brows rose, mouth gaped.

Scared at your frantic state, before Andy could respond, “I love you.” You whimpered. Your gaze tearing away from his eyes, but you had to say it, dead in the eye. “I love you so much.” Fearing that this is it – he’s going to leave you.

“I know this wasn’t founded on love, but I can’t help it.” Andy shushed you, pressing his lips to yours. “Baby, it’s okay.” He mumbled against your lips. Tremors of sobs

It’s intense, passionate – all teeth, tongues dancing, heavy breathing. Moans and groans echoing against the pavements, “I love you too.” He mumbled against your mouth, slipping into the rabbit hole of lust. Skin yearning for skin. It felt so freeing to admit the harbored feelings. “I – I’m not good at expressing myself, but I know what I feel for you is real. I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’ll never forgive myself for it.” Andy spoke against your lips, teary-eyed, choking up a bit. “I’m scared that I’ll become my father.”

“I’m not mad at that. Never was.” You softly nibbled on his bottom lip, slowly tugging it. Andy’s lips molded with yourself, warm breath fanning each other – stealing each other’s breath away. But there was more on his mind, words just hanging at the edge of his tongue. “You’ll never become that man. Never. The only good thing that bastard brought into this world was you.” You pecked his nose.

A beat of silence, and Andy sniffled.

“I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I thought I could never – but with you, I feel I can live again. At first, I thought I just needed physical touch, but Y/n – I need all of you now.” Slow kisses, hard and tantalizing. “I want a life with you, and Aaliyah. But I get so scared, I feel as if I’m betraying my own son.” His eyes are shut tight, sniffling. You kiss the crease between his eyebrows, soothing his pain.

“It’s okay to feel that way. I felt that too.” You spoke, Andy rubbing his cheeks against yours. He wanted to be coddled, and only in your arms. Tightly in his hold, “It’s okay to love them, and remember them. They will always be yours, but it’s also, okay to be happy.” You kissed his forehead, fingers treading in his soft strands.

Andy’s eyes lifted from yours, dead in the eye, watery “I want to be happy with you.” You released a shaky sigh, but a relieved one, “I wanna be happy with you too.” You spoke shyly, but Andy heard it all to clear.

Andy collided his lips against yours, his hands holding your face. Dim room, but Andy’s baby blues shine bright like gems. Words scrambled against swollen lips, limbs entangling, time slows down. Voices muffled whispers, only speaking peace that mends your broken heart. A little pants of relieved giggles, exhaling, and inhaling each other’s essence.

Underneath coiled muscle, your palm lies where his heart beats. Caressing his chest, finger tips savoring his chest hair that splatters across his abdomen. Fingernails gently scraping against his skin, Andy groans – savoring the sting. “Make love to me, Andy.” You mumbled against his lips, he nodded ferociously. Your glassy umber eyes ignite him. “I’ll make you feel good, baby.” Engulfing you in his arms, gently laying ontop of you – welcoming his weight on you.

Crawling downward, Andy slithers on your body – every crevice, every curve, and toned planes of your bodice ingrained in his mind. Hungry lips suck, and kiss as he travels to your mound. He knows you, inside and out. How to unravel your seams, how to make you scream.

Hands run down the length of your thighs, but slowly this time. Savoring your flesh, like a fine china; delicate, and precious. Hot pants fans against your skin, Andy sat back up on his knees, gingerly tugged down the hem of your panties, forward past your hips, and down your knees. Gliding down your ankles, and off your feet.

Andy nibbled on your ankle, muffling a small high-pitched giggle. You try to move your foot, but he grabbed it. Planting a soft playful smooch on the tips of your toes, peppering kisses trailing down the planes of your legs, leaning back to his rightful spot between your legs. Laying on his belly, your leg perched on his shoulder-blade. A quick kiss on your inner thigh.

Andy took his sweet-time, inhaling your sweet scent – rubbing his nose against your cunt. Peppering feather-light kisses on your peach-fuzz, his beard grazing against your sensitive skin sent shivers up your spine. Nuzzling and, engulfing your vagina in his mouth; trapping your moist labias between his lips – dragging, and tugging. Languid flicks of his tongue against your swollen clit, breathy shudders left your mouth – getting caught in your throat.

Andy moans, and you twitch in his clutches. His arms wrap around your hips, “Fuck – please Andy.” You beg for him to suck on your clit, but it’s just teasing flicks. Eyes watery, lifting your head upward to look him in the eye. Mumbling under your breath, please please please. He winks at you, your fingers finding refuge in his scalp. Scratching, and rubbing.

“Cheeky bastard.” You huff. It spurs him on, you can feel his smirk – in retaliation, he relinquished his lips to blow on your clit. “Ahhh – shit.” Your head falls back on the bed, shrieking – biting on your fist – fearing your moans and groans will wake the baby up. With no hesitation, Andy suckles your clit. Squirming in his arms, thighs slightly shaking.

It’s soft, loving, not rough or fast to get to that peak of primal high. Realization hits you, this is the first time Andy fucked you in your own home. Now in your bed – such as you with him in his old martial bed. It’s cathartic, but hasn’t it always been?

The simmering grief of your dead husband leaves you, a weight is being lifted. He’s gone now – finally he’s gone. Tears fall down from your eyes, smiling wildly – happiness soaring through you.

Jolting beneath him, a thrilling sweep trailing up and down inside your fluttering lips – and back up. Passionate licks turn a bit more essatic, falling deeper in, melting against you. Ocean eyes peer at you, drinking in the teary-eyed mess presented before him. Andy sneakily plunges his tongue inside your dripping hole, you gasp, your hands holding onto his head. Your body lifts in the air, sitting upward as Andy devoured you.

Andy’s open-palm lay on your belly, gently putting you down on the bed, his hand trailing from navel to the valley of your breasts to then your throat. Choking you a bit, your beating pulse against your fingers. His cock hardens, swelling at you – a beautiful mess. His nose grinding against your pearl, as he tongue-fucks you three ways to sunday.

The cadence of his talented tongue plunging inside of you, brown and blue hues unwavering from each other. Andy loses it as your breasts heave as your chest rises and falls rapidly. A debauched and throaty cry of his name leaves you, spurring a filthy groan from him as he swirls and guides through your heavenly orgasm.

It undoes you, pure unadulterated pleasure melts in your bones, surging through your body in shivers and spasms as you grip on his dirty blonde tresses as if the strands are grounding you – as if you’ll float away. Elated at the curling toes, as you bit down your bottom lip; restraining your cries.Airy breaths escape you.“I love you.” A whisper, gentle but the weight of confidence lingers.

Andy removed his palm from your throat, crawling upwards on your body, leaving wet kisses in its wake. His beard is soaked, dripping droplets – adoration shines in his eyes, “I love you too.” He spoke in hushed whispers. Your spidery fingers rub at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him.It’s gentle, it’s loving – it’s beautiful to feel his lips against yours. What you want in life? Him. All of him. Him, and Aaliyah.Your palms search for his hardened cock, licking his lips; fingers tightening around him like a vice. He growls, biting at your lips.

Languid strokes, twirling your wrist, “I got you, baby.”

-  
The early sunset was flourishing through the curtains, a comforting dew illuminates throughout the room, as simmering scent of sex floats in the air. Birds chirping in the morning hours. Two hearts beating underneath warm sheets, limbs entangled as Andy’s fingers lazily tickle your spine.

Cuddled in his arms, satiated. Hours of intense love-making, and hymns of praises against skin. Heaven. Caressing your matted hair, kissing your forehead. But internal conflict battles within Andy – earlier you were so distressed. Proclaiming you wished you met him first instead of your late husband.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, you can sense whenever he’s lost in thought – his body stiffens a bit. A beat of silence passes, Andy afraid of crossing a boundary by asking – but it’s tipping at the edge. “Why did you say you wished you met me before?” A tense silence draps upon both of you. Shaky hands hover over Andy’s back, your arms tightening around him.

“The only good thing Jamal ever gave me was Aaliyah.” Andy’s brows raised – you said your husband’s name. You only said it once, and cried that you weren’t ready to say it out loud before. As if it burned you, solidifying that he was really gone.Now you spit on his grave.“I – I got an email yesterday. It was –” You gulped, breathing heavily, “–I didn’t know who it was but something told me to just read it. You know those hunches –” You peer at Andy through your lashes, he nods, brows furrowed sympathetically.

“–And I wanted to puke after reading it. Christ, I did actually – I vomited for an hour straight.” You laughed humorlessly, choking back a sob.Andy held you tighter, sniffling against his bare chest, “What happened?” Fore gin anger gurgles at the back of his throat, ready to lash out at anyone who has wounded you. Like a thread that snaps, a floodgate has busted open.

“Andy – he was going to leave me.” A watery laugh, it was cracked, causing Andy to wince, he felt it deep in his heart. “I’ve been mourning that mother-fucker for years. What a joke.” Lone droplets fell from your eyes, “I’m such a fucking joke.” You croaked, your tear-soaked face digging in the heels of your palms.“My marriage was a fucking sham.” You sobbed, Andy enraptured you in his arms, comforting you, cradling your fragile state. “You could never be a joke.” Andy cupped your face in his palm, his voice wavered

“The email was from his lover. Stating that she was sorry for my loss, that Aaliyah won’t have a father, and she’s been with him for two years. She didn’t know about me till about three weeks before he died.” You wailed against his chest.

“She said that he was planning on divorcing me, and he said didn’t love me anymore.” Your choppy breaths, hyperventilating, Andy was cooing you, and shushing you. Cradling you back and forth, pained that you were hurting, tricked – deceived by tainted vows.

“I didn’t believe it at first, but then she sent pictures of them together. He looked so fucking happy!” Your scream was muffled in his hug, “That whore couldn’t bear to hold the lie now that he was dead. How fucking considerate. Like I wasn’t walking around half-dead crying over the asshole.

”Your entire body was shaking, your head sprung up, staring Andy dead in the eye, Andy’s eyes were watery like yours. “But, I know you won’t leave me, Andy.” A hopeful smile, but within the second you crumpled, “Please, don’t leave me! I love you – more than I ever loved him.” You pleaded, fresh tears cascading down your cheeks.

Andy kissed you, lulling you to calm down; you frantically kissed him back, encasing his head in your hands.Mumbled I love you, don’t leave me, I need you were nervously jumbled between sloppy kisses.

“I’m never going to leave you. Never.” Andy spoke against your swollen lips. Usually fits of impulsive emotions between you both ended up in sex, but your bodies didn’t crave sex – it craved intimacy. To be held.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Andy’s voice cracked – a million thoughts running a mile per second, revelations alerting him. His grief unveiling itself from his eyes finally – this reminds him of his marriage.

How Laurie and himself were fighting before her death. Was his marriage a lie? Or love that soon dissolved into content? Laurie favored public display of their marriage – not being able to accept his past with who his father was. How they were battling over their son’s innocence.

Laurie accused him of lies, the miscommunication. The facade of the “perfect family” now broken, his cut-throat words he said that one night to her ringing his head, “Our marriage is a lie.” At first, he half-assed meant it. Just gurtating what he thought Laurie wanted to hear, but it was the truth. It was always the truth.

It was a fucking lie.

“I know how you feel.” Andy spoke, you halted your kisses. “Living a lie. Believing your marriage was perfect when really it was shit.” His voice was gravelly, he was hurt, tears flowing down his bearded face silently.

“I just wish you didn’t have to find out so late.” Your breath hitched a bit, you knew what he meant. You just knew – from some long nights of him ranting about Laurie, releasing his anger at not only losing her but at her; how her and his actions could’ve been different for their son, for themselves.

It’s all coming together.

“I think we both found out a bit late.”

Leaning your forehead against his, mournfully tore his gaze away. “But it’s okay, I got you.” Your thumb rubbing his cheek, you kissed his cute beauty mark softly. Hugging you against him by the waist, Andy looked into your eyes, smiling he saw – something.

It’s pure love.

Love.

It’s truly something else.


End file.
